The Dog Dilemma
by canibecandid
Summary: "It's a dog, Sherlock, not the plague." "I would have preferred that." He retorted, his dressing gown swishing angrily behind him.


_Of course it's raining!_ Molly huffed to herself as she yanked the hood over her head and dashed to St. Bart's. _Already late and this is the start to another fabulous day, well done. _

If someone had asked her where her umbrella was she could only tell them, with a large sigh of regret, that she had no clue where it was anymore and that she had lent it to a_ friend _of hers.

As another gust of wind caused her to be pelted in the face by the cold rain drops, Molly made a silent vow to wound Sherlock Holmes the next time she saw him.

_Maybe I could finally replace those toes I keep giving him_ She thought to herself grimly.

And as she hailed the taxi, she heard it. A small, lonely whimper in the alley way.

"What the-" Molly turned and squinted her eyes through the mist.

"Lady, are you in or out?" The cabbie huffed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he glared at her through the review mirror. She made to get in but she heard another pathetic whine and she grabbed her purse before slamming the door to the cab.

"Sod it anyway." She grouched, heading towards the sound. She gave a whistle and clapped her hands a bit. "Here doggy, heeerreee doggy-dog." There was a pawing and scratching sound followed by a loud high whine. Lifting the edge of a cardboard box, Molly jumped back a little as a little pup scrambled out from under the lip.

"Well, hello there little one." Molly giggled scooping the tiny wiggling body up and holding him up for inspection. "You are adorable, aren't you?" She cooed. "Even if your face does look like it got hit by a frying pan, yeah?" The English bulldog gave no mind to her words, only wriggling it's wrinkled body and liking it's jowls. "Oh, come 'ere." The tiny pup gave a yip of joy as Molly opened her coat and held the pup to her chest. "Don't be getting any funny ideas, sir, I do postmortems." The dog gave a snort and rested his head on her shoulder, giving it a tiny lick. "Come on, I know someone who owes me a favor.

* * *

"No, no, no. Absolutely not, you take that thing out right this instant."

Molly sighed, shoving around the petulant man-child and entering the living room of 221B.

"It's a dog, Sherlock, not the plague."

"I would have preferred _that_." He retorted, his dressing gown swishing angrily behind him. Molly gave him a sharp glare and he crossed his arms in what he always insisted was not a pout, but was clearly a pout. Molly rolled her eyes as she placed the little dog on the ground and it gave some tentative and curious sniffs around the floor.

"I'm not really asking, Sherlock, I've got work. 'sides, you owe me for that bag full of toes." Molly rolled her eyes and held up a hand. "Don't even try to get out of that. Dog is here until five o'clock and, hopefully, by then it'll have a new home."

As the door closed behind her, Sherlock gave an irritated huff and raised an eyebrow at the puppy, who's whole body shook as it waggled it's tale.

"I suppose you think you're amusing. No matter." He strode over to the table and picked up a few papers. "I suppose Anderson's lab reports will come of some use after all, these should suffice as a place to urinate." He then flopped on the couch, hands steepled under his chin, until he felt a tug on the belt of his dressing gown and a tiny growl.

He cracked an eye open, finding the tiny mass pulling at the sash with it's tail in the air and chewing the material with enthusiasm. "What?"

The pup gave a whine and gave a stumbled circle as it nipped after it's own tail.

"No. Don't do that." Sherlock huffed, but the puppy flopped to the floor and it's tiny feet pawed the air. "I know what dogs do. They grow and they age, and then they get pu-"

The pup gave a loud yap, springing to it's feet as Sherlock's hit the floor. "Alright fine."

He gave in, giving the sash a tiny yank as the pup chased it to his toes before deciding that they looked like a tasty treat and mouthed on his large toe.

Scooping the wrinkled ball of fur and skin, Sherlock eyed him before setting him down.

"Well Gladstone, I suppose I need to tell Molly that I found an owner for you." He paused as the dog gave a sniff to the old fingers sitting on the table before nibbling on one. "And find out if mortuary preservatives are toxic to dogs if you are to stay around.


End file.
